| Crown him with many crowns,
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| the Lamb upon his throne.
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| Hark! |
| How the heavenly anthem drowns
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| all music but its own.
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| Awake, my soul, and sing of him
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| who died for thee,
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| and hail him as thy matchless King
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| through all eternity.
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| Crown him the virgin’s Son,
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| the God incarnate born,
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| whose arm those crimson trophies won
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| which now His brow adorn;
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| fruit of the mystic rose,
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| as of that rose the stem;
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| the root whence mercy ever flows,
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| the Babe of Bethlehem.
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| Crown him the Son of God,
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| before the worlds began,
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| and ye who tread where he hath trod,
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| crown him the Son of Man;
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| who every grief hath known
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| that wrings the human breast,
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| and takes and bears them for His own,
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| that all in him may rest.
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| Crown him the Lord of life,
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| who triumphed over the grave,
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| and rose victorious in the strife
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| for those he came to save.
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| His glories now we sing,
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| who died, and rose on high,
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| who died eternal life to bring,
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| and lives that death may die.
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| Crown him the Lord of peace,
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| whose power a scepter sways
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| from pole to pole, that wars may cease,
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| and all be prayer and praise.
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| his reign shall know no end,
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| and round his piercèd feet
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| fair flowers of paradise extend
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| their fragrance ever sweet.
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| Crown him the Lord of love,
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| behold his hands and side,
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| those wounds, yet visible above,
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| in beauty glorified.
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| No angel in the sky
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| can fully bear that sight,
|
| but downward bends his burning eye
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| at mysteries so bright.
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| Crown him the Lord of Heaven,
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| enthroned in worlds above,
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| crown him the King to whom is given
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| the wondrous name of Love.
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| Crown him with many crowns,
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| as thrones before him fall;
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| Crown him, ye kings, with many crowns,
|
| for he is King of all.
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| Crown him the Lord of lords,
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| who over all doth reign,
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| who once on earth, the incarnate Word,
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| for ransomed sinners slain,
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| now lives in realms of light,
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| where saints with angels sing
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| their songs before him day and night,
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| their God, Redeemer, King.
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| Crown him the Lord of years,
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| the Potentate of time,
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| Creator of the rolling spheres,
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| ineffably sublime.
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| all hail, Redeemer, hail!
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| For thou has died for me;
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| thy praise and glory shall not fail
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| throughout eternity. |